Chapter 2
Samantha
I had no idea what was in the box, but I knew Hargrove’s and suspected whatever it was, it was expensive. I thought I’d better take my shower first; otherwise, I might back out when I saw what was in the box.
I didn’t back out.
I walked into the living room and Dom was seated on the sofa, checking his wristwatch and dressed like the cover of a high-class men’s magazine. I might have even gasped when I saw him; especially when he stood. There was absolutely no padding in the shoulders that towered above me. He was so imposing, I felt like I should kneel.
The dress was emerald green and slim-fitting without waistline or tucks. It was embroidered in an Oriental style down the front and along the hem. The neckline was low and revealing; enough so it went almost to my navel and I couldn’t wear a bra beneath. It had an inset of almost transparent fabric that kept the neckline from gaping open. It was slit on the side to above my panty line, so that garment was out of the question, as well. I was lucky that the five-inch heeled, black patent sandals were my size as I wasn’t accustomed to them and it took concentration not to topple and snap my ankle. I do think I managed it with some aplomb, though, and that made me proud.
“Is that you, Samantha? My god, but you are stunning.” His eyes were sparkling with approval and his hands were crossed at the wrist as though he was proud of his achievement.
“A little change from the delivery cap, I’d say.” The vanity had been well-stocked, and I found three gem-studded gold combs with which I’d pushed my hair to the crown and then let it cascade down, waterfall fashion over my back. I’d caught a view of myself in the vanity mirror before I left the room, and I had to admit I was impressed what a nice dress could do for your self-esteem.
I looked to him for my next order, but he continued to just stare at me. “Is everything okay?” I asked, concerned.
His head did a little shudder spasm as though he was waking himself and his hands stretched to his sides. “I’m just in shock. A good kind, believe me, but I never expected this.”
I beamed quietly inside. I had hoped someday to become a successful actress and have a wardrobe costume that would make me glamorous. I told myself the dress could be that opportunity.
“Well…” I spoke up nervously, “I’m ready when you are.”
Dom shook his head slightly again and then held out his muscled arm. I took it as he let us out of the apartment and into the elevator. He was so much taller than I was, I couldn’t see him looking, but I felt his breath as it streamed down the open-necked gown.
We emerged, and the doorman respectfully tipped his hat. Out the revolving door, Dom said, “He didn’t even recognize you, you know.” He seemed to feel a sense of accomplishment, as though he was my Pygmalion and me, his Galatea. A black limo with a driver waited at the curb and we were soon deep in the Manhattan traffic, although the atmosphere inside the limo was serene, pleasantly-scented and relaxing as Dom poured me a glass of champagne. “Don’t drink it too quickly,” he cautioned. I knew he assumed it was a new experience for me, and he was correct. While we only traveled a little more than three blocks, the traffic kept our journey to the pace of a crawl.
“Now, we’re meeting my friend, Eric and his wife, Penny,” he told me quickly, filling me in on the details. “He deals with high finance and money exchanges, but you don’t need to know anything about that.” I nodded and made a mental note. “Now, as for me, I also am into money exchanges, but I also founded a website that caters to millionaires and their exotic tastes, but you won’t need to know anything about that, either. If asked, we met in the Expose Club when you were someone else’s date – don’t get specific. That’s where we’re headed now, the Expose Club, so you’ll have cues all around you. Eric is courting a Mr. Satterly, oil is his business. He wants Satterly on his client list and will have to deliver a good impression tonight. I’m being invited as moral support for Eric and it was requested that I bring a date as Eric is lining up someone for Satterly and didn’t want the girl to get distracted with too many men at the table. Again, try to stay non-specific, keep details to a minimum, be shy and polite and watch me for the cues, such as when it’s time to leave.”
I nodded again. “Got it. What do I say I do?”
“You’re an aspiring actress, no credits to your name yet, but you’re hopeful and in acting school. Fair enough?”
I nodded. “Good, I don’t like to lie.”
“You’re not lying, you’re acting, remember?”
I mulled this over and out of the corner of my eye, could see Dom continuing to study me. What he didn’t know was that I was also studying him. I hadn’t decided whether I liked him; he was very overwhelming, and I disliked condescension. Maybe he just was used to being in charge and I took it personally. I was cutting him a break. All that aside, when I stole a glance long enough to study his physique, there was everything to like. Being well-dressed didn’t hurt, but I already knew from his earlier towel faux pas that he had a body like a Greek God.
I’d heard of the Expose Club – you couldn’t be in New York long without hearing the whispers. Of course, I’d always been in a waitress apron, serving hors d’oeuvres at the time, but word traveled in the kitchens as well, if not better than in the ballrooms. I was excited and intrigued to see it in person.
It was different than I’d expected. I’d envisioned a golden tower with a glass elevator, but in reality, it turned out to be a very non-descript building, maybe three floors high with a big biker guy bouncer and a line of well-dressed people on the sidewalk. Dom must have had some inside track since the moment we left the limo he walked right up to the bouncer who immediately opened the red velvet rope to admit us. Inside, it was a different world.
Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling. They were so delicate as to look like they were floating in the air, and their crystals glittered like a zillion stars. The entire floor was a nightclub, much like I’d seen in the movies from the 40s. Small, white linen-decked tables were scattered across the floor and hugged a small stage where a woman I didn’t recognize, but whose voice sounded familiar, was deep into a ballad, accompanied by a muted trumpet, a sax, a pianist, and a raspy snare drum. Overall, it reeked of sex, money, and people who preferred you did not recognize them if you happened to pass them on the street the next day.
Dom was greeted by a maître d’ and he bent low to whisper in the man’s ear. We were immediately shown to a table where a couple waited. “Eric, how are you?” Dom greeted him, giving him a man-hug and then he kissed the woman on both cheeks. “May I introduce Samantha, my date for this evening?”
I shook hands with both as they murmured their names. I couldn’t help but notice that it was the minimal acknowledgment they could give me. This told me that Dom having a variety of ladies with him was the norm. I wasn’t offended; after all, I was on the clock.
“Where’s Satterly?” Dom asked.
“His plane was late. I had a driver waiting for him; they’re en route.”
Dom nodded. “And Satterly’s date?”
“In the ladies’ room,” Penny spoke up this time and her voice held the hint that she wasn’t comfortable with the whole arrangement. I shared her sentiment but said nothing.
As a matter of fact, the lady in question was just then approaching our table. Not many glamorous individuals lived in the small, Midwestern town where I’d grown up, and New York offered a smorgasbord of characters who tried to stand out from the crowd. Satterly’s date could be included on this list. She was introduced as Zelda Dunn and her appearance supported the slightly exotic tone of her name. Tall with chiseled athletic features, she was wearing a dress reminiscent of the 1920s; a sheath without shape but constructed of sequined cloth in black. Her hair matched, and she wore a likewise sequined hairband sporting a black feather that rested atop the crown of her short-cropped hair. Eyeliner and red lips seemed to be her signature. The only thing missing was a mob-boss boyfriend. Perhaps that would be the infamous Mr. Satterly?
Zelda held out her hand and introduced herself; her voice husky and affected with a self-indulgent accent that reeked of boredom and intellectual arrogance. I wondered that a man would find her a target of pursuit, thinking she was closer to competition, but then I didn’t know this Satterly and I certainly didn’t know everything. I did notice that Dom frowned when he met her, looking around her pointedly at Eric, who shrugged.
The others were drinking but I opted for a cola, hoping to retain my common sense in that world of slightly weird and insane excess. There was a performer on the stage; a singer/comedienne whose voice and Adam’s apple revealed her main call to celebrity. She was picking her way through a ballad in French. I wasn’t impressed, but sat politely and tried to appear non-judgmental. It seemed this club catered not only to pocketbooks but to varied sexual preferences.
At last, the long-anticipated, podgy Satterly arrived. His carriage and overly loud voice suggested he was a man used to getting attention, as well as what he wanted. There was power, but it had been settled upon him rather than earned. Bombastic and colorful, he was introduced to the group and seemed less than impressed with his “date.” He did, however, take extra time to make me feel at home, his hand lingering on my arm as he requested that Dom trade seats with me so I’d be sitting next to him. I got a little suspicious. Was I the side course on the platter being served to his salacious appetite? I glanced at Dom whose face was dark and that suggested that he wasn’t pleased with the arrangement.
“Very nice to meet you, Samantha,” Satterly said, emphasizing the first word. Zelda, it seemed, was being ignored and while it didn’t seem to bother her, it did upset the dynamics at the table as Satterly became more intent upon pursuing my favors than conducting the business the men had come to accomplish. As Satterly’s eyes absorbed my neckline charms, I felt somewhat violated and purposefully leaned in Dom’s direction. Satterly noticed and then insisted that Zelda and I trade places; an act which seemed to infuriate Dom further. I assumed he felt manipulated and was trying to regain control of the social “meeting.”
Eric, on the other hand, was floundering. Not nearly so polished as Dom, his eyes kept begging for help. “Mr. Satterly,” he attempted to get the man’s attention, “I’ve brought some numbers for you to consider.”
“Later, later… business later,” Satterly muttered, his eyes on my leg peeking out through the slit in my dress. He’d ordered the waitress to bring drinks two at a time, “And keep them coming,” he added.
Although this was a public establishment, the smoking ordinance obviously had been suspended and the room was filled with a heavy cloud that was stifling. I couldn’t help but cough from time to time as I inhaled Slattery’s Cuban, hand-rolled cigar; a fact which he pointed out more than once. I was rapidly becoming miserable and looked for some kind of clock in the room, but the best I could do was try to read Dom’s heavy watch. He caught me looking and for a moment, I thought I saw sympathy in his glance.
Zelda was being ignored and it wasn’t long before she was replaced like a pitcher of stale water. Dom knew Satterly wasn’t interested so he suggested to Zelda that she looked a bit green and she thankfully agreed and asked them to call her a cab, which they were only too happy to do. Satterly’s monologue never paused, and Zelda left the party, unnoticed.
Satterly had gradually turned his back to Dom, lavishing his attention on me. His heavy arm lay on the back of my chair and eventually fell into my lap. Dom’s expression if anything, was darker than it had been earlier. Eric was rambling on about something financial and he looked to Dom from time to time to back him up. Dom’s attention seemed fixed on Slattery’s appropriation of my company.
The singer finished her song and left the stage, leaving a temporarily less noisy atmosphere. Encouraged, Eric launched into yet another sales spiel and Satterly’s hand now slid into the slit of my dress. I jumped, as though burned, and slid to the far side of my chair, yet his arm reach was long. Dom stood up, cleared his throat and thrust out his hand at Satterly.
“Mr. Satterly, I know that you and Eric will want to deal with the business at hand, after all, you flew all this way to meet with him. I’m afraid this is proving to be a bit tiring for Samantha. We’re going to take off.”
Satterly put down his cigar and puffed up his chest. “What you mean? Isn’t she staying with me?”
Dom quickly glanced at Eric, who nodded encouragingly. Dom looked at me and saw the look of panic on my face. “I’m sorry, Mr. Satterly, but Samantha came with me. Zelda, the young lady who left recently, had expressed an interest to get to know you better. If you like, we could probably reach her and have her return. However, Samantha and I have other plans. I’m sure you understand.”
I could tell the conversation was bordering on establishing male domination and for that reason, it had come to an end before it became a confrontation. I was very grateful to Dom for rescuing me and limply pushed my hand toward Satterly. “Mr. Satterly, it’s been a pleasure. I hope you have an enjoyable and prosperous stay with us here in New York.” Dom was behind me, pulling out my chair and I stood and took a step back out of Satterly’s way. His face was stormy, and I could tell that I was ruining the plans he made. Before things got any hotter, I stepped around him, told Eric and his wife good night and headed toward the door.
Eric called after me. “Wait! Dom, I knew this was a long day for you and that you must be exhausted. Why don’t you allow us to see Samantha home tonight?” The true spirit of his words was very obvious on his face and with desperation, I looked toward Penny to save me. God bless her, she backed me up and that seemed to take some of the pressure off between Dom and Eric.
“Eric, Samantha is ready to call it a night. I believe I’ll excuse myself for the powder room and you and Mr. Satterly can talk.”
I didn’t have to be given a second opening, toddling quickly on the spike heels toward the door. Dom was immediately behind me, supporting my elbow. Apparently, I must’ve looked like a drunken egret on high heels.
“Let me get you out of here,” Dom told me in a low voice. I nodded my thanks and a few moments later we were out in the night air and Dom had texted the limo driver who promptly appeared. I had the heels in my hand when the car arrived.
The limo circled the block to return to Dom’s apartment at The Avalon and when we arrived, he held my hand to indicate I should stay with him as we returned to his apartment. We got upstairs, and he pulled a gold key from his pocket and opened the door.
“Samantha, I don’t know what to say. I know you’re not that kind of girl and I put you in a compromising position. I really apologize.”
I shrugged. “It’s okay. I don’t think Mr. Satterly knew the plan, but regardless, I’m out of there now. Let me go and change clothes and be out of your way,” I started toward the bedroom.
“No, sit down and let me pour us a brandy.”
I could see true empathy on his face and something told me he was different from the others. He had some depth. I’d been warned when I moved to the city that people would see me as an easy mark. Maybe for that reason, I tried to be especially friendly to people, letting them know that I was a wholesome Midwestern girl. Up to that point, it hadn’t been very successful. My upfront friendliness had been translated as naïveté and I’d had my share of men coming on to me. It wasn’t the way that I wanted to become an actress and it caused me to build up a wall. “Dom, I appreciate the offer, but I really want to just be an actress.”
His expression changed, and I realized perhaps I misunderstood. “No, no. I can see where you would get that impression, but believe me, it’s just an innocent offer of friendship. Satterly just stopped short of raping you at the table.”
I nodded “I know. I was so glad when you spoke up.”
He was pouring the brandy and spun around, his brow furrowed. “Oh, there was no fucking way I was going to let him make off with you. You were there mostly to do me a favor.”
I felt a little disappointed in that. I had hoped that he saved me out of a sense of appreciation for something more than my work ethic. But, I’d settle for whatever I could get. “I know,” I said quietly. Okay, let’s drink one brandy and then I’ll be on my way. My shift ended an hour ago and it’s been a long day. I have a casting call at noon tomorrow. I’d like to be fresh for it.”
He nodded and held out the snifter. I took it and looked around, choosing to sit on the sofa. He crossed the room and joined me there, his arms stretched out on the sofa’s back. It was crafted from flawless black leather and I was reminded how ideal it would be to shoot him for a magazine cover. Everything about him dripped with masculinity; his easy stance of power, the disdainful curl to his bottom lip and the way his eyes drilled into the pleasure center of my brain.
“So, tell me about this acting career of yours.”
I choked minimally as I took a sip from the snifter and shrugged, “You’ve probably heard it a thousand times. In school, I was in all the plays and people said I had some talent. I sing a little, dance a little and the small town I’m from doesn’t have a lot to offer unless you want to work at the steel mill. So, I saved up the money I earned babysitting for the family next door and what I earned as a waitress, and here I am. It’s a pretty common story. I happen to be living with a half dozen people who share an apartment; most of whom have the identical story.”
“You need to be unique.” He pronounced it like a judge with a verdict.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re right. Yours is a story I’ve heard before, many times. That doesn’t make you any less talented or less suitable for acting, but you have to learn how to stand out from the crowd.”
“I think most of the girls stand out by going home with the Slatterys of the world,” I commented in a dry tone.
“I agree, but that’s not you. It’s all in the presentation, don’t you see? You have to be less available if you get my drift.”
“No, I’m not sure I do.” I was puzzled and the look on my face invited him to explain.
“I’m only suggesting that you should brand yourself.”
“Brand myself?”
“Sure. You focus on developing one special talent, and you become the very best that anyone’s ever seen. So, you might not get all the casting calls, but you’ll get the right ones and more to the point, you’ll get the jobs.”
I was thoughtful, took another sip from my brandy and looked downward, thinking. “Can you give me an example?”
“Sure, I suppose I can.” He thought a few moments and then scooted next to me on the couch. “Kiss me,” he invited. His chiseled face and the top of a tattoo emerging from his shirt were only inches from me.
I must have looked alarmed because he smiled and reached out for my hand. “No, don’t worry, I’m just teaching you something. Pretend this is a casting call and the role calls for you to be kissed. Now, whether it’s on stage or on the camera can make a difference, but you’ve come to get the job, remember that. So, I want you to kiss me and I want you to put everything you’ve got into it. Can you do that?”
I hesitated but nodded. “I guess so. Just kiss you? Just like that?”
“Do you always argue with the director like this? That may be a clue as to why you’re delivering boxes.” He wore a satirical smile and I got his point.
I put down the snifter, smoothed the dress over my lap and dropped my shoulder so that I came up next to him, my hand on his pec. Okay, I admit, I wanted to feel it! I looked up at him and with my left hand, reached up slowly and pushed the hair back from his eyes but let my hand slide down his temple and over his stubbled cheek. His eyes followed as my hand cupped his chin, holding it motionless as I inched toward him, my eyes locked onto his. I hesitated just before my lips touched his, sucking in the air between us with the sound of a needy creature. I gently bit his upper lip and then leaned mine into his. His mouth was naturally larger than mine, so I chose instead to target the center of his mouth, allowing my tongue to run the ridge of his open lips before I pushed hard.
With the other arm, I laid it over his shoulder and pulled him toward me. I twisted my head, leaving no part of his lips untouched. I tested his willingness to allow my tongue inside, and he couldn’t be more receptive. I ran my tongue along the edge of his teeth, noting their perfect symmetry and the faint taste of brandy along their surface.
“Jesus! I’m preaching to the choir!” he muttered, and I smiled and resumed kissing him. The lesson was done—now I needed to quench my desire.
Something happened during that kiss; something I hadn’t anticipated. This was not play acting. His masculinity drew me into his aura of raw, sexual need and my body responded on its own. I felt my nipples harden and there was a warm rush between my legs. The kiss that was meant to excite him had now become my excuse to mold my body against his. He felt it, too.
Where he’d begun being the teacher, he now became the student, studying my reactions as his hands began to wander my body. His fingers climbed the inside of my thigh, using the dress slit as a roadway. When the slit ended, he kept going. I was naked beneath and he knew it. His finger rose above the apex of my legs and he began to stroke the petals of my labia.
Oh, my god, I melted. The effect was overwhelming. Against my conscious will, my legs opened, and I felt the muscles in his shoulder react with encouragement as his finger parted those tender lips and reached deep into me. I broke away from the kiss, gasping for breath, but his hand clutched the back of my head, drawing me hard against him. He pushed my legs further apart and his hand cupped my pussy. I wanted to fight him off, but there are times when craving trumps a moral upbringing. I threw caution to the wind and bent my leg to accommodate his probing. It was all he needed and suddenly I was airborne, in his arms and cradled against his hard chest.
“Wait! I thought this was just a lesson?” I felt obligated to protest, although God only knows why. I wanted him as much as he wanted me.
“The lesson has only just begun,” he threatened in the very best way possible. I tingled with anticipation. His cologne was ignited by a sheen of perspiration, inspired by pure sexual desire.
He carried me out of the living room, down the hallway and entered the room at the end. It smelled of his cologne and emanated an overpowering sense of masculinity. He set me down on the bed, still standing and with a sweep of his hands, pulled the dress over my head and I heard the silk whisper against itself as it hit the carpet.
Moonlight was probing the room—something rare in the city but that’s why the wealthy owned the open views. He looked down at my naked body and I could see desire in his features. Momentarily, his clothes joined mine and his hands began stroking me, like a painter with a flat brush who was blending strokes and pausing between each to judge its effect.
He sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled me down to face him, folding my legs around his waist so that we were skin to skin. His hands lifted my hair so he could kiss my neck and I felt his tongue wet and probing in my ear. It sent chills of longing downward and I heard him whisper, “I want to fuck you, Samantha.”
I froze, but his tongue kept working its magic. What the hell was I doing? Oh, who cares, I want it, too—maybe even more. I nodded, and he scooped me up and laid me onto the waterfall of pillows piled against the padded headboard.
I’d been with a few boys, but he was something altogether different. Dom was a master; his body his tool to command and my body the canvas he wished to paint. My eyes closed as he used his mouth, hands, and body to set off bursts of erotic pleasure from every part of me. He pulled two silken pillows from the stack. Dom bent my legs at the knee, my soles flat on the bed and he parted my legs, placing one pillow beneath each knee to keep it open.
“There’s more to kissing than mouths,” he told me in a husky tone and used his fingers to part my labia and reached inside with his strong, practiced lips. I was a shuddering mess, instinctively pulling away because he’d maxed my sensitivity into overwhelm. When I tried to wiggle away, his hands paused to pin me to the mattress. I came back for more, over and over, because it felt too good not to.
At one point, he jerked out the pillows and flipped me onto my belly, sliding a moistened finger down the crack of my ass. He pushed my knees under my tummy and smoothed my skin as though kneading a thin, delicate pastry.
I felt myself being lifted and my legs pushed wide as the tip of his penis began probing my pussy. I gasped and pulled away. “You can’t do that!” I cried out.
He jerked backward. “Why not? I know you want me as much as I want you.”
“My god, man, have you seen yourself in that state?” I was beside myself. “You can’t go all the way in, do you promise? You’ll split me wide. Just maybe a half inch?” I felt like I was pleading for my life—in every sense of the word.
He laughed and lifted my hips backward so I was straddling his lap. He slowly lowered me downward until I was sitting flat on him and his swollen cock had filled me to the point I couldn’t move. He took care of that, lifting and then lowering me until I relaxed enough that my muscles loosened, and he could even twist me a little.
Slam! I was on my back again and he held my knees up toward his shoulders as he slid into me smoothly again. “Put your hands on my waist,” he ordered me. I’m not even sure what happened to my hands; they were the least important part of my anatomy at that moment, but I did as he asked. “Now, you run the machine. Pull me toward you when you want to be full and push when you want withdrawal. Press into my waist and I’ll fuck you like a machine gun.”
Oh, my God! Was he kidding? I went right for the machine gun, over-estimating what that meant and within two seconds I was pushing away. “You’re too much,” I gasped, and my reward was to hear him chuckle. Suddenly, I felt his weight lift off the bed and heard him leaving the room. My mouth opened in disappointment as I tried to sit up. What had I done wrong?
Soon he was back, and gently pressing me back into the cushions, spreading my legs. His finger began stroking me and I could smell the brandy we’d been drinking. He’s painting me with brandy! I realized and relaxed. The liquor didn’t sting, but it invigorated the blood vessels close to the skin’s surface and soon I was a throbbing mass of stimulated flesh. “Oh, my god, please don’t stop.”
He laughed, and I peeked long enough to see him paint his organ and then he re-entered me. I thought I’d come off the bed with the sensation. It felt like a motorized, double-sized cock had drilled into me and the more I fought, the more I wanted it. I felt confusion and a sense of loss every time he withdrew, followed immediately by relief and clenched muscles as he found his way in. “Oh, sweet Jesus, what are you doing to me?”
He didn’t answer but lifted my hips as he got to his knees and he seemed to go elsewhere in his consciousness. His engorged cock and balls slapped against the tender area between my legs as he hammered into me like a machine.
That’s when I felt the sensations—that growing crescendo that signaled release. He felt it, too, and withdrew momentarily to leave me in limbo. Just when I thought it was over, he was back inside for another round. The alternating intervals of satisfaction with abandonment whetted my senses and when finally, he allowed me to peak and to find his own, it was so overwhelming I think I lost momentary consciousness. I felt like an astronaut, shot into the stars and then blocked from her only path of familiar awareness as she sailed over the dark side of the moon.
When it was over, the bed was destroyed, and we lay entwined with the covers. The satin of the spread soothed my invigorated tender skin and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to walk. “I don’t think I can stand up,” I whispered and lay there tense because I was sure he’d want me to go.
“Then don’t,” he whispered back and wrapped his arms around me so that my bottom pressed into his groin and my breasts filled his hands. I felt his chest move as he sighed deeply, only pausing long enough to pull a section of the spread over us before his even breathing told me he was asleep.
I weighed my options of finding my uniform and going back to the shared apartment where I’d claim whatever mattress wasn’t in use, to where I was, satiated and cuddled by a magazine cover model who had bought his own piece of the skyline. I decided to stay.